


A favor, just in case

by rhiannonwrites



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can be shippy too though if you want, Cunnilingus, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Oral Sex, Platonic Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, RQG 94, Relationship Study, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonwrites/pseuds/rhiannonwrites
Summary: Sasha asks Wilde for a favor the night before they speak to Apophis.
Relationships: Sasha Racket & Oscar Wilde, Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 23
Kudos: 49





	A favor, just in case

Wilde doesn’t know how long Sasha’s been standing there, leaning against the doorframe by the time he notices her. It could have been anywhere between a few seconds and several minutes, depending on when she decided she wanted him to notice her, but the amused quirk of her lips when he nearly jumps out of his chair leads him to suspect it fell somewhere on the longer end of that scale.

“You know, Sasha,” he says, setting his quill down and turning in his seat to face her. “People typically knock before entering a closed room.”

(He doesn’t mind her sneaking, really. If he had anything to worry about from her, it would have been buried between his ribs long before he ever realized she was there.)

Sasha shrugs. “Sorry, mate, but people with common sense lock their doors.”

Wilde offers her a half-smile. “I must confess, ‘common sense’ is not a quality I’m often accused of possessing.”

“Well, maybe if you’d lock your door…”

“Has a locked door ever stopped you before?” He lifts an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs again. “They did before I learned to pick ‘em.” She pushes herself away from the frame and steps further into the room.

Wilde takes a brief moment to study her now that she’s no longer encased in shadow. He’s taken aback by how _ill_ she appears. Of course, Saira had debriefed him on Sasha’s condition and he understands it in a theoretical sense, but that hasn’t prepared him for how she quite literally looks like, well, death. Even paler than usual, her cheeks gaunt, eyes sunken in with dark circles. She has a half-finished bottle of wine clutched in one hand. Not that he can blame her; he has no doubt that he’d be drinking too, were he in her situation. If her appearance is anything to go by, she must feel dreadful.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when she speaks again. “You workin’ on somethin’ important?” She asks, crossing her arms and nodding at the open notebook on his desk that he’d been writing in before he noticed her.

He shakes his head and closes the book. “Nothing that can’t wait,” he answers, then looks back to her. “What can I do for you, Sasha?”

She furrows her eyebrows as she throws a quick glance out into the hallway and swings the door closed. “Um. I wanted to ask you about somethin,” she says, staring down at her boots.

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head expectantly.

Sasha bites her lip. Scuffs the toe of her boot against the floor. Runs a hand through her already messy hair. “Okay. So, like. There’s a pretty good chance things ain’t gonna work out tomorrow…” she starts.

When she doesn’t continue, he says, “You don’t think Apophis will let us use the Heart.”

“It kinda seems like a long-shot.”

“Sasha,” he starts, lets out a sigh, and then continues, “Sasha, I can’t _promise_ you that he will. It would be downright cruel for me to do so without being one-hundred percent certain. What I can promise you, however, is that I will do what I can to convince him.” He flashes a wry smile. “And I _am_ absolutely certain that Grizzop will do the same. Hamid and Azu, as well.”

“I know you will. I know _they will._ But anyway, that, that isn’t really my _point_ , actually,” Sasha says, followed by a little noise of frustration. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, and he waits, allowing her the time she needs. “Look, mate, I’ve been, been thinkin’ about, well, about _what if_ Apophis doesn’t give us the Heart, or, or even if he does, what if somethin’ goes wrong and it doesn’t work?”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “An’, like I’m not sayin’ that it’ll all go wrong. Just. _If_ it does. If I, like if I die in twenty-seven days, there’ll be a lot of things that I’ll never try out...” her voice trails off, her eyebrows knitting together. “An’, well. I, I wanted to see… I was, um. Curious? Maybe. About. Tryin’ somethin’ out. In case I do. Die.”

If he thought Sasha was avoiding eye contact a moment ago, that doesn’t compare to the lengths she goes to in order to not look at him now. She practically has her back turned to him. And it’s next to impossible to see against the deathly pallor of her skin, but is she blushing? He can’t tell for sure.

Wilde frowns. “I’m not sure I follow, Sasha. This isn’t something that could have waited until morning?”

She folds her free arm protectively over her torso. “No, um. Not, not this, no.”

This time, he’s certain that she’s blushing, though it’s still quite faint. “So I was curious about- I want to…” she continues talking, but it comes out in an entirely unintelligible mumble. She clears her throat and tries again. “I wanted to, er. Well. Be with someone tonight.” She pauses for a split second, taking in a sharp breath. “Like. _With_. Someone. Just. To know what it’s like. See what all the fuss is about, y’know? An’ you’re um. Well, you’re good at that kinda stuff. An’ I was thinking—hoping, maybe. Maybe you’d… show me?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh.”

Of all the things he could have possibly seen coming, this is not one of them. If it were anyone other than Sasha, he would have figured it out somewhere ‘try something’. But this _is_ Sasha. He’d thought she had no interest in these things, especially not with him. Though she does seem to be asking out of genuine curiosity, which seems fitting.

Then his eyes flick back to the bottle of wine she carries and there’s a flicker of doubt. “Sasha, I’m quite flattered that you’ve come to me with such a request, but you’re drunk.”

She frowns, looking at the bottle. “Not _that_ drunk. ‘S just halfling wine. Y’shoulda seen me after I had some orcish moonshine th’other night. I was a _right mess_. Screwed up a knife trick even, an’ I _never_ screw up knife tricks. Azu had to get ‘em outta the ceiling.”

Wilde has to fight back a laugh at that. “Even so,” he sighs and holds out a hand, standing up from his chair. “Come here, Sasha.”

She seems frozen in place for several moments but eventually takes a few tentative steps in his direction. When she’s close enough, he gently pulls the wine out of her grasp and sets it down on the desk. His fingers brush against hers as he does so, and he manages to not flinch at how cold they are. “Look at me?” He requests, standing up from his chair.

Finally, she looks up and her eyes meet his. He sweeps a hand over her brow, murmuring a sobering spell under his breath, and when he moves it away, her gaze is sharper, more focused. Sasha blinks at him.

“Is your head clearer now, Sasha?” He asks, and she nods. “Do you remember what you just asked me?” She looks down and runs her hands through her hair, shifting her weight from foot to foot, but still nods again. “And are you absolutely certain that you want this? That it wasn’t merely an impulsive drunken decision?”

She gnaws on her lower lip, looks back at him, looks away, and then nods again. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible. “I. Um. Been thinkin’ about this for a few days now. But er, was having a hard time choosin’ who I wanted it to be? At least ‘til I found out you were gonna be here. ‘Cause you like. Know what you’re doin’. ‘An’ all.”

He looks at her quizzically. “I’m sure any one of the others would have happily obliged. I admit, Sasha, I’m surprised you’d choose me above one of them. You’ve grown rather close to them.”

She gives a little shrug. “That’s kinda the whole problem, actually? It’s just. I didn’t wanna make ‘em worry? Hamid an’ Azu’d be too… soft? Sentimental? About it. An’ I’m sure Grizzop’d be great, but, I dunno. It doesn’t feel fair to do something like that an’ then immediately go die, y’know? I guess, you just made more sense,” she pauses. “Like. The whole point is, I might die. I don’t wanna… The others, they might get… might be all emotional and such about it. If I. If I ask them for something like this. Might see it as more than just a favor, y’know? You’re more. Casual. About this stuff. You won’t get more attached.”

And suddenly, her choice makes sense. It’s such a _Sasha_ thing to do, for her decision on who to sleep with being such a calculated one, made to limit the potential future suffering of her friends. She’s not wrong. Hamid and Azu _would_ get sentimental about it. And Grizzop is, well, Grizzop.

“Very well, Sasha.” He nods and holds his hands out to her. When she takes them, he guides her to the bed and sits down. He watches her carefully as she slips out of her jacket, then sits down and kicks her boots off. She sits there for a moment, looking down at her fingers, which are fidgeting.

A few moments pass before she glances quickly at him, then away, chewing furiously on her lower lip. “I ah, I don’t exactly. I dunno what I need to do.”

“You don’t _need_ to do anything, Sasha. Just relax and follow my lead, and let me know if I do something wrong, if you want me to stop. I do need to know, however: how far do you wish to take this?”

“I. Um. Just, just touchin’, I think?” Her eyebrows furrow as she searches for the right words. “An’ like… mouth? Stuff?”

The way she phrases it is so _her_ that he has to smile. “All right, Sasha.” He reaches out to cup her cheek and turn her face towards him. Then, with a gentle nudge of his thumb, he coaxes her lower lip out from between her teeth. She’s bitten it swollen and bloody. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull back if she needs to, he leans in and kisses her, barely touching, only deepening it once he’s certain she isn’t going to move away.

When he pulls away, just enough to see her expression, her eyes are still half-shut, her lips gently parted. “How are you doing, Sasha?” He checks in, stroking his thumb across her cheekbone.

She hums. “’m good. That was… nice? Feels a lot less weird than it looks,” she observes.

“Good,” Wilde murmurs, smiling as he kisses the corner of her mouth, then glides his lips across her jaw to her throat, just under her earlobe. Her head falls back and her breath hitches when he grazes his teeth over the soft skin there, so he does it again, nipping gently. The noise she makes would be entirely inaudible if he weren’t so close. He focuses his attention on that spot for a moment, taking in every tiny sound she makes, before pressing a line of kisses down to the base of her throat. She gasps when he licks the hollow of her throat, right where her clavicles meet.

He leans back again as he reaches to unclasp the top button of her shirt. She stiffens, hands flying to wrap around his wrists. “Wait-”

He stops instantly, pulling his hands away. “Okay. Are you alright? We don’t have to-”

She shakes her head. “No. I mean, yeah, ‘m alright.” She lets out a deep breath as she gathers her thoughts. “I liked what you were doin’ there, an’ I still wanna keep goin’, an’ like. Yeah. But, er. Can I keep my shirt on? Is that, like, allowed?”

“Sasha,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. “We can do this in whatever way makes you the most comfortable. You decide what is and is not allowed,” he assures her, and when she stares at him, an expression of disbelief momentarily crossing her face, something in his heart breaks.

“I mean that, Sasha.”

She nods. “I know you do,” she whispers. “It’s just…” She sighs. “Never had someone tell me that.” And with that, his heart shatters altogether. He doesn’t know much about the specifics of Sasha’s upbringing, but he does know a good deal about Barrett and the Racket gang, and it isn’t exactly difficult to put together a vague picture of a younger Sasha being used as a tool for crimes she never agreed to commit. There’s a fleeting moment of silence between them, and then, looking away from him once more, she says, so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her, “I trust you, Wilde.”

He already knows she trusts him; otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. But for her to say it out loud? He can count the number of people she trusts on one hand, and he’s one of them. It’s easily the most precious, valuable, and fragile thing anyone has ever gifted him.

No. Gifted isn’t the right word. Sasha Racket’s trust is not a gift. It’s something to be earned. Her trust is an _honor_ , a privilege that she is free to give and take as she sees fit. One must work to receive it, and one must work to keep it.

And keep it, he will. He will treasure it and hold it close. And he _will not_ let it be broken.

Wilde holds his hand out to her, palm up. When she takes it, he raises her knuckles to his lips in a reverent kiss. “You wish to continue?” He asks, and she nods. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Sasha answers by drawing closer, tilting her head back and to the side to expose that same section of her throat to him, and Wilde can’t help but smile at how endearing she is as he moves one hand to the back of her neck and presses his lips to her throat. She lets out a little hum of contentment. After a moment, he gently shifts her head to move his focus to the same spot on her other side, which earns him another almost silent moan.

Wilde trails his mouth down to the base of her throat, occasionally giving a little nip. With anyone else, he’d be sure to leave a few lasting marks, but with her, he knows better. He pulls away just enough to ask, “Lie down for me?” Letting it come out in a breath against her skin.

When she does, propping herself up on her elbows, he moves to hover over her, supporting himself on one elbow, his other hand reaching up to push a strand of hair off her forehead. Wilde presses one more kiss to her lips, before sliding down the bed, settling between her legs. “Is this alright, Sasha?”

“Yeah.”

“And this?” He reaches for the button of her trousers but doesn’t unfasten it.

“Yes.” A breathy whisper this time.

Wilde nimbly unfastens them and hooks his fingers under her waistband to pull them down over her thighs, watching her carefully for any signs of discomfort. Once they’re off, he sits back for a moment to take in the sight of her. Studies the way the wiry muscles of her thighs tense up in anticipation. His heart gives a painful lurch when he notices how many scars she has. It’s no surprise, of course, considering how many she has visible even when fully clothed, but it still evokes something protective in him. She’s lived an unimaginably hard life, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to provide her with a bit of softness. Of course, he doesn’t say anything; she’d probably stick a knife in him just for daring to think it.

He lets his hands rest on her knees for a moment and looks back up to her face. Sasha looks back at him with a mix of expectation and curiosity. He settles down onto his stomach and presses his lips to the inside of her knee. Then, he plants a line of kisses up the inside of her thigh. He goes slowly to let her grow accustomed to the touch of his lips, and he can feel the tension leave her muscles as she gradually relaxes. Before he moves on, he does the same with her other thigh, ensuring that she’s completely relaxed before he touches her.

When he does put his mouth on her, it’s a feather-light kiss that makes her shiver. After a moment of letting her get used to it, he glides his tongue between her folds, licking them open to expose her clitoris, and she lets out a low moan. It’s so _quiet_ , he almost doesn’t hear it, but it is there. If he’d ever thought to expect, well, _this,_ it’s exactly what he would have expected from her.

He takes his time to explore her, discovering what other quiet sounds he can draw from her. A sigh of content at the gentle press of his tongue at her entrance. A shaky gasp with a long stroke of his tongue. A soft whimper when he flicks his tongue over her clit.

Wilde works slowly, but efficiently. Not teasing her, like he might with a different partner, but not rushing through it, either. Not when she’s come to him in such a vulnerable state, asking him for a favor in case she isn’t around for much longer. This isn’t any random fling. This is Sasha, and she deserves to be taken care of properly. To be cherished and adored.

(Not that he would ever say that to her out loud.)

And cherish her, he does. He’s never thought of Sasha in such a way as this, but now that he’s here, he fears the need may consume him.

(So perhaps she was wrong when she said he wouldn’t get attached.)

(Perhaps he was wrong when he agreed with her.)

He pays careful attention to what draws those lovely little noises from her, to how she just barely moves her hips to follow every movement of his tongue. To how her thighs quiver when he does just the right things with his mouth.

When she throws one leg over his shoulder and tangles her hand in his hair, pulling him against her, he knows she’s close, and he doubles down in his efforts, flicking his tongue rapidly over her clit until he feels her legs tighten around his head. Then, he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and she throws her head back with the loudest moan he’s heard from her tonight, her back arching off the bed and her grip in his hair tightening almost painfully in his hair.

He laps gently at her clit, drawing out her orgasm, until she collapses back against the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Wilde moves back up on the bed to lie next to her, propping himself up on one elbow with his chin resting in his hand. “How are you doing, Sasha?” He asks.

She _glares_ at him while she catches her breath. “Fuckin’ hell, mate.”

He returns her glare with a grin, “I had fun too.”

Sasha sighs, looking up at the ceiling. She’s clearly thinking hard about what they just did, but he doesn’t pry. He only hopes that she doesn’t regret it. After a moment, she closes her eyes. “’M just. Gonna lay here for a second.”

She’s asleep within minutes. He doesn’t bother her.

Later, when sleep inevitably fails him, Wilde slips out of bed, careful not to wake Sasha, and sits at his desk. Under the light of a single candle, he resumes his work from earlier. He doesn’t get much done, his mind continuously wandering back to tomorrow. Apophis has already heard what he’s had to say about his team, as well as his praise for Sasha in particular. (Especially for her, even.) Now, the best he can do is escort them tomorrow and hope that Apophis sees in them what he does. What he sees in _her_. It will be fine. It _has_ to be fine. He doesn’t know what the group—What he—will do without her.

When he next glances over at his bed, Sasha is gone without a trace.


End file.
